


truth lies in an abyss

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, And Of Course - Freeform, Dragon Age - Freeform, Forehead Kisses, Gardener!Monty, Gen, Heist, Heroes of Might and Magic III - Freeform, Lord of the Rings, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Skyrim - Freeform, Sort Of, Truth Serum, and Blood magic, concepts of the Fade, other fantasy inspiration drawn from, taken from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: “Thank you for meeting me here.” Her dark blue hood obscures most of her face, but when she tilts her chin towards him, her green eyes flash in the starlight.He nods demurely. “I take it you have a proposition for us?”She hesitates. “Is it true what you can do? Enter the Fade?”“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t true.”“And are you as good as they say you are?”Bellamy lets a faint smile cross his lips. “I don’t know what they say, but I can assure you I take the utmost pride in my work, Lady Griffin.”A Fantasy Heist AU for the Chopped 100 Challenge
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake & Jasper Jordan, Bellamy Blake & John Murphy, Bellamy Blake & Monty Green, Bellamy Blake & Nathan Miller, Bellamy Blake & Raven Reyes, The Delinquents - Relationship
Kudos: 7
Collections: Chopped 3.0 Round 3





	truth lies in an abyss

The marbled grey stone of the seawall cuts starkly across the inky line of the incoming tide. The wind sweeps briskly up from the crashing waves to stir Bellamy’s hair, his long curls brushing softly along the tips of his ears. He breathes deeply, tasting the cold salt along the sides of his tongue and grounding himself in the here and now.

Miller lingers a half step behind him, the slight keen of dagger on whetstone sounding from his shadowy seat. Farther behind them, below the ramparts, the faint sounds of song and dance drift up like a whisper of warmth in the icy northern air. The wine will flow for hours yet to come. Lord Kane doesn’t skimp on finery, even for uninvited guests.

A light step echoes across the wall from Bellamy’s right and he feels Miller tense in preparation. A slight twitch of Bellamy’s fingers and their visitor would be dispatched, no questions asked. But he keeps his fist curled against his thigh and Miller stands still as stone as the visitor draws close to his side.

“Thank you for meeting me here.” Her dark blue hood obscures most of her face, but when she tilts her chin towards him, her green eyes flash in the starlight.

He nods demurely. “I take it you have a proposition for us?”

She hesitates. “Is it true what you can do? Enter the Fade?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t true.”

“And are you as good as they say you are?”

Bellamy lets a faint smile cross his lips. “I don’t know what they say, but I can assure you I take the utmost pride in my work, Lady Griffin.”

She hesitates again, clearly stalling. A bout of raucous laughter erupts from somewhere downstairs.

Bellamy clears his throat softly. “We traveled several hundred miles north just to meet you here. Please get to the point.”

Griffin’s eyes flash again. Suddenly, Bellamy is overwhelmed with a deep thrum of magic and fiery anger, beating like a drum on every side. She looks away and the magic recedes immediately, leaving him with a throbbing headache.

“Lady Griffin-”

“I’m looking for information.” She passes him a crisply folded piece of paper and he tucks it quickly into his vest. “I believe this target has the information I need. The job should be straightforward. If you are as good as they say.”

She bites off the ends of her words and Bellamy resists the urge to snap at her.

“Everything you need to know is on that paper. And here -” she hands him a skin pouch that clinks promisingly against his palm “-is the upfront payment. Three hundred gold.”

Bellamy turns the bulky pouch over in his hand, satisfied with the weight, before tossing it back to Miller.

“Three hundred is a bit more than my usual upfront price.”

She lifts her chin proudly. “That is intentional. I have a special condition.”

He tilts his head, waiting.

“I’m going with you.”

Miller makes a sound between a sneeze and a choke. Bellamy blinks at her wonderingly. The wintry sea breeze ripples the edges of her hood so that the starlight illuminates her pale cheeks. Pure as snow.

“The Fade isn’t a place for… tourists,” he coughs politely.

Her jaw firms and her magic crashes heavily against his own again, threatening to swallow him. This time she’s purposeful, testing his boundaries and letting him feel the beat of her power. Like the thump of a heartbeat pressed against his own, forcing his body into sync with her own. When she finally pulls back, he carefully hides the way he’s struggling to breathe.

“ _ I _ am not a tourist.”

He gives her a sharp nod and she spins away from them, quickly disappearing back along the ramparts from the direction she came.

Miller steps up alongside him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Bellamy rubs the back of his neck, still reeling. “She’s a powerful mage. I haven’t felt magic that strong in a long time.”

Miller folds his arms. “Still, Fade travel isn’t just something any mage can jump into. Bringing her along will be dangerous.”

“It will be interesting at the very least,” Bellamy admits, unfolding the sheet of instructions. He skims the flowing script until his gaze lands on a name. His eyes widen involuntarily.

“‘Interesting’ might be an understatement actually.”

“What?”

Bellamy holds out the paper for his partner, feeling a thrill of excitement run through him despite his shock. “Looks like we’re going after Mommy dearest.”

He runs his thumb just under the steady handwriting spelling out the name of the target: “Lady Abigail Griffin of Alpha Keep.”

The Citadel of Floukru stretches its shimmering jewel-like spires into the wispy blue clouds, a beacon to incoming travelers from land and sea alike. The coastal city is a much grander and warmer sight than Lord Kane’s northern stronghold. The western coast is known for mild, summery weather almost all year round, making it a hub of trading activity, both legal and illegal. Passing through the main arch, Bellamy is struck, as always, by the thickness of the rosy walls, the pearly gemstone cut in chunks wider than the height of six men. The feat of engineering is even more impressive when compared to the majority of inhabitants milling around the open market just inside the gate. In the crowd of mostly halflings dressed in bright clothing, Bellamy and Miller tower like darkly clothed trees.

Miller bunches his cloak together around him, face scrunched in discomfort. “I hate this place.”

Bellamy, having already foregone his own cloak, revels in the gentle sunshine, turning his face upward and drinking in the soft warmth against his closed eyelids. “Shut up, Miller. Just enjoy it.”

Miller scoffs and pushes past him. Moving through the crowd of traders and customers half his height makes it look like the man is wading through a sea of heads. Bellamy hides a chuckle as a gaggle of noblewomen duck right under Miller’s armpits without a break in their animated conversation, much to his friend’s obvious discomfort.

It takes a good half hour to navigate the marketplace alone, the constant press of people taking some getting used to. Memories flood back to Bellamy; leading Octavia through the crowded streets to his favorite stalls, threading a silky red ribbon through her hair. Her light laugh echoes in his mind’s ear as he leads Miller through the wider, emptier streets climbing up towards the inner citadel.

The academy is a round tower, each floor lined with a balcony, giving the appearance of a set of giant silver rings wrapped around the deep red building. Students bustle in and out of the open double doors and no one gives Miller or Bellamy a second glance as they slip inside. Here, there’s a larger variety of races; a group of elves sits in a semi-circle in the corner arguing over the exact components of a new spell, halflings and dwarves share low workbenches stretched along the walls, three human teenagers slip by gossiping eagerly about one of their professors. It feels a little too much like home for a moment and Bellamy’s head spins as he pushes away a wave of nostalgia for his own days spent in the tower.

“This way,” he jerks his head towards the central staircase. They hurry up three floors, past the majority of the dedicated classroom floors. The fourth floor is divided into a maze of hallways and personal offices, and the hubbub of sound from the open staircase fades away as they move through the halls. Despite the labyrinth of offices, Bellamy guides them quickly to an office and pushes through the door without knocking.

The office is large, but packed so full that it feels tiny. One wall is a floor to ceiling bookcase, overflowing with books and scrolls that vary wildly in size and thickness. There are two overstuffed armchairs and a small tea table, as if at one time the office was used to receive visitors, but the furniture has all been shoved together into the far corner and piled with more scrolls and books. Instead of chairs, pushed up against the wall near the door is a long set of cabinets with glass doors, filled with multicolored glass bottles, some labeled and most not. A desk sits in the middle of the chaos, covered in haphazard piles of more study materials, potions, and remnants of several very different meals. And against the wall to their right, both very focused on some sort of smoking, metallic apparatus covering most of the mechanical work bench, stand a silver-haired dwarf and a young halfling woman, dressed in red leather aprons and goggles.

“I told you we didn’t have the calibrations right,” the woman scoffs, smacking down a pair of heavy gloves. “We should have just tested it again, but now I’ve got to rebuild the whole fucking thing.”

The dwarf huffs and crosses his arms tightly. “Like you didn’t want to do that anyways. I saw all those ‘adjustments’ you tried to write over my schematics.”

“Yeah, cause your design sucked.”

“Then build the damned machine yourself!”

“Don’t test me, Sinclair, I swear…”

Bellamy lets out a low whistle and finally the two mechanics jump to attention. The dwarf hastily slides his goggles up and rests them on his forehead.

“Bellamy! Sorry we were just…”

“Cleaning up,” the halfling finishes. She slides her own goggles off and tosses them carelessly on the workbench, causing a miniature landslide of sketches and schematics. “Hey, Blake. Miller.”

“Reyes,” Miller says tonelessly, by way of greeting.

She tilts her head with a grin, her long ponytail swinging against the back of her neck. “I’m glad you guys are here. I was getting bored with these… side projects.”

Sinclair swats her arm. “The council pays you a salary that most people would kill for so you can work on their-” he lifts his fingers to form mocking quotation marks, “-side projects.”

Reyes rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She peels off the apron and lets it fall to the ground, kicking it somewhere under the workbench. “Do you guys want something to eat?”

Bellamy’s lips twitch as she grabs a half-eaten plum from the food scraps littering the desk and takes a bite. “I’m… good.”

“You sure?”

He spreads his hands defensively. “I’d rather have a place to sit.”

“Oh.” Reyes takes another huge bite, ignoring the juice running down her chin. “Fresh out of luck then.”

“Raven, you fucking smartass, get some chairs for our guests,” Sinclair snaps, yanking out a dwarf-sized stool from under the desk for himself.

Raven chuckles and winks at Bellamy before slipping out into the hall and letting the door slam behind her.

Miller leans up against the bookshelf, biting his lip to keep from laughing.

Sinclair goes to lean his elbows on the desk with a sigh, realizes that there’s no room and settles for hunching over miserably instead.

“She’s bored again. So of course she’s finding all sorts of ways to be frustrating. I hope for my sake you brought her something difficult to work on.”

Bellamy decides to sit cross legged on the floor, the dwarf-sized desk short enough that he can see over the top of it anyways. “You love being frustrated. Especially by her, you big softie.”

“I like being able to get my work done and I suppose she helps with that,” Sinclair growls, but his eyes dance with amusement. “The lively conversation and… experimentation… are an unwelcome side effect. She’s constantly distracted.”

“And she can still run circles around you even at that,” Miller says wryly.

Sinclair shoots him a glare, but only sighs again. “She’s the most brilliant mind of her generation. But that doesn’t mean she has to sass me every step of the way.”

“Actually, I think I have something that will keep her busy for a while,” Bellamy cuts in.

“Oh?” Sinclair leans forward eagerly. “Because the council has us working up enchanted docking mechanisms for the fishery right now and I wouldn’t say this to Raven’s face, but it  _ is _ beyond dull.”

“It’s a good thing there’s something we agree on,” Raven chirps, bouncing back through the doorway with another resounding slam of the door. Sinclair rolls his eyes.

“Behave, or I’ll put you back on scrap sorting duty.”

Raven sticks out her tongue at him and slides a short stool across the floor to Bellamy. “Here, I only found one.”

Bellamy blinks at the stool and then at his long legs. “I actually made myself comfortable.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs. She flops on the armchair pile in the corner, sending another dozen books and scrolls cascading to the ground.

Sinclair gnaws at his lip. “Hurry up and give her a job before she wreaks any more havoc.”

Bellamy rubs his knees thoughtfully. “Well… it’s not exactly like the other jobs. I wouldn’t be bringing anything to you. I need someone to come with me.”

Sinclair’s eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline. “ _ With _ you?”

“Yes.”

“Into the Fade?”

Bellamy sighs. “Yes.”

“No!”

Raven jumps up from her seat, vibrating with excitement. “Yes! I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it. Duh.”

“Raven, I said no!”

She crosses her arms and glares daggers at Sinclair. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Actually, I am.”

“Fine then… I quit.”

Sinclair throws his arms up in frustration. “Gods almighty, stop acting like a child!”

“Then stop treating me like one!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bellamy stands up, holding out his hands. “I’m not trying to start a fight. Let me explain a little more and then we can talk about this.”

Raven and Sinclair stare at each other for a beat longer before Sinclair slumps his shoulders and waves for Bellamy to keep talking.

“I need another enchanter in the Fade, but it will only be to help Shape. No direct spell casting, no direct contact with the target, no danger from spirits.”

“I can do that,” Raven pipes up as Sinclair frowns and turns to Bellamy.

“You can Shape just fine, last I recall. I taught you myself.”

Bellamy feels a rush of twisted shame and steadies himself even as a blush creeps up his neck. “I’ve had… difficulties.”

Sinclair raises an eyebrow in question and Bellamy grits his teeth. “Difficulties focusing.”

“Ah.” The dwarf’s gaze softens and there’s the tinge of pity that Bellamy tries desperately to avoid. He presses his lips together tightly.

“What matters is that I need someone else to help. Miller can’t do all of it himself. The dreamscape is difficult enough to tame with two.”

“Well, I’m the best there is so you can relax, Miller.” Raven sidles over to sling her arm casually around Miller’s waist. “In fact, you could probably just take some vacation time if you want because I’ve got it handled and…”

“Raven!” Sinclair rises from his desk, voice thunderous in the small space. “I said no.”

She shrinks back a little and Bellamy notices the split second tightening of her arm around Miller’s waist.

“Hold on, Sinclair,” he jumps in. The dwarf turns his ire toward Bellamy again. “She’s right, you’re not in charge of her. And the amount we’re being paid for this job, I could easily make her a better offer than anything you can put out. So why don’t you be reasonable about this?”

“Reasonable?” Sinclair sneers. “Do you remember what happened the last time you took a promising student from me?”

Bellamy meets his dark stare, letting the deep embers of his anger swirl to life. “You know I remember every hour of every day. I would never let that happen again.”

“Really? Because it looks like you’re letting it happen to yourself!”

Flames flicker along the length of Bellamy’s bare forearms, twisting orange veins of magic threatening to burst into fullness in his palms. He holds the anger in check, letting it simmer just under the surface as his voice dips lower. “My problems are my own and no one is responsible for me but me. But you and I both know that Gina made her own choices too. And Raven can too. You’re not protecting people, you’re just controlling them.”

Sinclair opens his mouth as if to reply, but as his gaze flicks across the growing reverberations of Bellamy’s magic and Miller’s protective hand at the hilt of his dagger, he snaps his mouth shut again. Bellamy takes a deep breath and wills the flames to slowly fade until only faint glowing traces remain, criss crossing his arms and hands.

“You’re right,” Sinclair says. “But you know I am too. I’m worried about you.”

“I know.” Bellamy turns away before he can waver and meets Raven’s cautious glance. “At some point you have to let your students find their own way. However, hard that might be.”

“Easy for you to say as the one who tempts them away from me,” Sinclair grumbles, but the way he picks up a half-empty tea cup and takes a lengthy slurp steals away any bite from the words. Bellamy relaxes and the last traces of fiery magic dissipate. 

“So…. I can go?” Raven ventures.

Sinclair steeples his fingers and levels her with a firm stare. “Raven Reyes, you are the most genius enchanter from here to the eastern wetlands. You are more than capable of deciding how and where you want to spend your time and abilities.”

She blinks. “Wait.. seriously?”

“To be honest, you should have been bossing me around for years now.” Sinclair leans back slightly, stool balancing on two legs as he contemplates his charge. “Just remember, if you’re going to play games with high stakes the way these two do, you need to make sure to have each other’s backs. No one can go it alone. Not in matters like these.”

Raven looks from Bellamy to Miller with a half-smile. “Noted. Thanks, Sinclair.”

He waves her off wearily. “I don’t want to hear of any accidents because you all half-assed this, so there better be some practicing before this job goes down.”

Now that the tension has fled the room, Bellamy feels tiredness creeping into his bones. “Don’t worry we have a few months for prep. I assume we can use the office for home base again?”

Sinclair gestures around the room helplessly. “My space is yours. What little there is, anyways.”

“We might need some decent chairs though,” Raven teases.

Bellamy groans and turns to the door. “Miller will fill you in on details and you two can start practice sessions. I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Sinclair stands. “You just got here.”

“And we still need to secure a few more partners.” He turns to Miller. “You and Raven can take a day trip to the Garden while I’m gone.”

Miller wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Through the Gateway?”

“Well there’s definitely no time to walk all the way to the wetlands and back,” Bellamy shrugs. “And you shouldn’t draw suspicion as long as I’m not with you.”

“You’re banned from the Gateway?” Raven furrows her brow.

Sinclair scoffs at the same time that Miller chuckles. “Try ‘wanted by the entire Imperial government’. If he steps foot near the Gateway, he’ll be flagged by every court mage on the continent.”

She looks skeptically over at Bellamy. “The Citadel is neutral.”

He grimaces. “Not for someone like me. Still want to work together?”

She flashes him a daring grin. “Definitely. I always knew I liked you for a reason, Blake. And pissing off the whole Imperium seems like a skill I need to learn.”

Sinclair lets out a long suffering groan and Miller laughs again.

“Okay, we’ll take a field trip to the Garden,” he says. “What are you doing?”

Bellamy lets a knowing smile creep across his face. “Picking up our shapeshifter from Polis.”

A beat of silence.

“No.”

“Yep.”

Miller groans. “Anyone but him. Please, Bell.”

“He’s the closest.”

“And the only one who’s threatened to slit our throats if we come near him again.”

Bellamy opens the door. “He’ll do it for the money.”

“Slit our throats? Yeah, I agree.”

Bellamy grins. “Guess we’ll have to be on our toes, huh?”

Polis feels like dust. Dust, dust, and more dust, coating every inch of Bellamy’s skin. The ground is cracked and dry, the long abandoned mine shafts of past civilizations venting bursts of arid gases up to the surface. A cloud of the sulfuric fumes hangs over the city, clinging to the roof of Bellamy’s mouth, even with his scarf pulled over his face.

The roughshod orc and goblin shanties lining the roads look like hovels compared to the opalescent beauty of the Citadel only a week’s journey north, but Bellamy knows looks are deceiving. The shanties are built with breathability in mind, able to vent out dust and hot fumes alike. A mix of lightweight woven fabric and pliable sheets of wood means that the homes are easy to pick up and move in case of a poison gas build up or collapsed mine shafts underfoot.

Near the center of the city, the temple is bustling; the mix of orcs, cyclopes, and goblins move unconcernedly in and out without face coverings, their stronger lungs unbothered by the gases. Bellamy passes under the intricately carved bronze pillars that line the temple walkway, keeping his face turned down respectfully under the watchful eyes of the god likenesses. Inside the sanctuary itself, the pillars continue, lining the walls of the vast room. The pyramid-like ceiling slopes up to a single point, so high overhead that it’s dizzying to look at. Worshippers kneel before pillars or anywhere there’s space along the cool stone floor, praying aloud and burning personal offerings. Scented smoke fills the temple, a welcome change from the bitter smell outdoors and Bellamy slips his scarf down to his chin in relief as he scans the scene.

His gaze finally lands on a cyclops priest standing near one of the pillars, towering form clothed in a long, drab robe. The priest intones something solemnly before dipping his massive fingers into a small bowl and anointing the forehead of a kneeling orc woman.

Bellamy fights to keep the smirk off his face as he patiently waits his turn to speak with the priest.

“I am in need of forgiveness, brother,” he murmurs as the orc woman finally steps away. “Can you speak to the gods on my behalf?”

The priest whips his head sharply to Bellamy. “Blake?”

Bellamy tilts his head coyly. “Hmm… do I know you?”

The cyclops’ single eye narrows and in a flash, he grabs Bellamy by the front of his shirt and yanks him in close enough to breathe hotly down the front of his neck. Bellamy keeps a stoic face as the priest leers.

“Good to see you too, Murphy.”

“I should kill you right here.”

He could, Bellamy knows. As a priest of the Flame, Murphy could easily slaughter a small village in plain sight and be applauded.

“Cushy job you’ve got yourself here,” Bellamy grunts as Murphy pulls a little harder, forcing him to stand on tiptoes.

“Yeah, so why don’t you fuck off and not ruin it for me?”

“What if I gave you a better one?”

Murphy barks a single laugh. “If you’re trying to tell jokes so I don’t crush your skull right here and now, it’s not going to work.”

“It’s not a joke, Murphy. You know I wouldn’t lie.”

Murphy looks him over, stare burning.

“I told you last time that I wasn’t going to work with you again.”

Bellamy tries to shrug casually, but is only able to manage a half-shrug as Murphy holds him tight. “It was a misunderstanding. Besides I knew you’d be able to talk your way out of it.”

“Talking my way out of an execution wasn’t in the job description.” Murphy tightens his fist ever so slightly, knuckles resting threateningly against Bellamy’s throat. “So are you going to give me the full run down this time? Or should I kill you now?”

Bellamy adopts a bored expression. “So much talk of killing. Let’s talk about money. Somewhere… private?”

Murphy holds him up for a beat longer before dropping him. Bellamy stumbles a little as Murphy pulls up the hood of his tattered robe and wraps a fold of cloth across his mouth and nose.

“Come with me.”

Heart thudding rapidly against his ribs, Bellamy follows the taller man back out of the temple and through the narrow Polis streets. Here in the heart of the city, the lightweight shanties give way to solid stone towers; apartments for the revered religious leaders of the city. When Murphy finally turns into one, the instant coolness of the dark interior washes over Bellamy like a balm. Murphy leads him up a steep, narrow staircase carved into the stone itself. The floors are spaced unevenly along the height of the tower, leaving Bellamy with no point of reference for how high they are until Murphy finally stops, unlocks a heavy wooden door, and ushers him through.

The door is the only furniture not made of stone or fabric in the apartment. Three narrow slits along one wall serve as windows and Bellamy catches just enough of a glimpse of the city to see that they’re higher than even the temple. Definitely higher than the gas cloud.

Murphy latches the door and turns to Bellamy as his entire body begins to ripple like a reflection on the surface of a pool. Shimmers of color spread across his body as his entire form rapidly seems to shrink until he stands at Bellamy’s height. Meanwhile, the visage of a grizzled cyclops fades away, the ripples of color swiftly forming into two piercing eyes and a familiar jutting nose. When the shift is complete, the lanky elf shrugs off the priest’s robe now pooling around his ankles.

“Alright, talk.”

Bellamy blinks at Murphy’s near-naked form. “Um... don’t you want to…?” He gestures vaguely at Murphy.

The elf smirks. “I’ve figured out the best way to beat the heat here is to sleep in the nude. I actually don’t have any clothes this size on hand.”

Bellamy refuses to give him the satisfaction of continuing  _ that _ conversation and instead chooses one of the few hammock seats in the room, sinking back against the taut fabric.

“It’s an information retrieval job. The client is one of the imperium. Lady Clarke Griffin.”

Murphy sprawls in his own hammock, producing a long knife seemingly out of thin air. He idly runs his fingers over the thin blade.

“I’ve heard of her.”

“Then you’ll know that when I say she’s paying a full three thousand, I’m telling the truth.”

Murphy sits up, knife falling flat against his thigh. “Three thousand? Silver?”

“Gold.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Bellamy finally lets himself breathe easily as the shapeshifter’s eyes alight with greed, knife currently forgotten. He produces the signed request from Lady Griffin and with a brief wave of magic, floats it across the room to land in Murphy’s lap. 

“See for yourself.”

Murphy skims the parchment, jaw dropping when he reaches the target name. “Abby Griffin?  _ The _ Abby Griffin?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, wait, wait… isn’t this Clarke’s mom? She’s targeting her own mom?”

Bellamy shrugs. “A client is a client. And money is money, right?”

Murphy licks his lips and then shoots a glare at Bellamy. “Why is this worth the risk to you? What happened to laying low and throwing everyone else into the line of fire?”   
“I need the money.”

Murphy is shaking his head before Bellamy even finishes his sentence. “Nah, there’s more going on here.” He starts ticking points off on his fingers as he rambles. “You were willing to come back to me for help. I’m guessing you probably had to hire on a new enchanter too, because last I remember you weren’t doing so hot with that anymore. And a job from this high up, probably means you’re hiring Green and Jordan for the dirty work. All this effort… for what?”

Bellamy attempts to lean forward, but the swinging hammock doesn’t give him much to ground himself and he ends up awkwardly hunching his shoulders instead. “It’s personal, okay? Can’t we leave it at that.”

“Not if you want me in,” Murphy says, tossing the letter to the side.

“What?”

Murphy smirks at him knowingly. “I’ll let bygones be bygones and I’ll even sign back on, be a part of the happy, little family. All you have to do is tell me the truth.”

Bellamy licks his lips, trying not to let his nervousness bleed through.

“Come on, Blake. It’s really not a lot to ask.”

“Promise you won’t tell the rest,” Bellamy finally says through gritted teeth. Hating the way Murphy’s triumphant smile makes his skin crawl.

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Griffin can smuggle me through the Gateway back to the Homeworld.”

Murphy clicks his tongue. “And you actually believe a noble?”

“It’s the best chance I have, Murphy.”

Murphy keeps shaking his head, but his smile is indulgent.

“Alright, Bellamy. I’m in. But listen, if this imperial bitch screws you over, I’m still taking my cut of the money and getting out.”

Same old Murphy. Miller will be thrilled.

When Bellamy comes back with Murphy in tow, Miller and Raven are already deep into Fade shaping calculations and they kick them out onto Sinclair’s balcony garden where their Gardener specialists are lounging.

“Gentlemen,” Murphy drawls as he steps out into the sunlight. Bellamy suspects that the way he stands slightly taller than the two Gardeners is a bit of intentional shapeshifting.

Jasper, one of the generally illusive lizardfolk of the wetlands, is intimidated enough that his deep blue scales actually start shifting green in a fear response.

“He’s not going to kill us,” Bellamy says, even as Murphy winks and leers with a fanged smile at the poor lizard mage.

Jasper lays back on his lounge chair again, trembling visibly. “Okay, if you say so Bellamy.”

“You’re a fucking blood mage and you can’t grow yourself a spine?” Murphy sneers.

“Shut up, Murphy.” Monty’s deep amber fur bristles, but he doesn’t bother sitting up from his own chair. The hyena-like gnoll doesn’t have to shapeshift for his own fangs to flash in the sunlight. “Maybe you forgot how a team works, but we didn’t.”

“Good to see you too, Monty.” Murphy plops down amongst the rows of potted plants and sniffs one delicately. “By the way, I’ve got a list of potions I was hoping you could spare me. When you’ve got the time.”

Monty closes his eyes with a slight warning snarl that makes Murphy laugh and Bellamy groan inwardly. He tosses a thick envelope in Murphy’s lap.

“Here. Griffin thinks the best person to go in as is Emperor Jaha. But she gave me a few other profiles too, just in case you need some backups.”

Murphy sighs dramatically and tears open the envelope. “I forgot what a taskmaster you are, Blake. I should charge extra this time.”

Bellamy pointedly ignores him, focusing on Jasper and Monty. “Did you two have a good trip?”

“Fine,” Monty snorts.

Jasper shudders a little, but his color is beginning to revert to its natural blue tone. “I hate portal travel. Makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Me too,” Bellamy admits. “Does Sinclair have everything you need here?”

Monty opens one eye. “We brought most of what we need with us. Miller said we needed to accommodate a ride-along?”

“First I’ve heard of it,” Murphy says slowly.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not in charge,” Bellamy says. “Yes, our client wants to see the job through personally.”

Monty nods. “Magic ability?”

The memory of Clarke Griffin’s magic pressing against his own, threatening to overtake him, floods Bellamy’s mind. “Lots.”

“Good.” Monty closes his eye again and shifts comfortably. “Still, it will probably take a stronger dose than usual to get five people through the barrier together. I might have to experiment a little. Come up with something new.”

“Well, you should have plenty of time. Miller and Raven are going to train until they can Shape Abigail Griffin’s dreams in their sleep. Pun intended.” Bellamy levels a pointed stare at Murphy. “And _ you _ should do the same.”

Murphy widens his eyes in comic innocence. “Me? I always make sure my work is of the highest quality. I can’t believe anyone would ever impugn my honor by even suggesting that I…”

Three voices chime out in sync: “Shut up, Murphy!”

Sinclair’s office becomes the hub of their prep work over the next few months. Raven’s workbench is cleared of her normal schematics and her and Miller’s dream Shaping plans soon cover the bench, sketched out in sharp charcoal on huge swaths of drawing parchment. The balcony garden becomes even more crowded with pots and troughs as Monty transplants several of his own herbs with Jasper’s help. Murphy bounces from space to space, taking his own pleasure in impersonating his team members when he’s not practicing his Thelonius Jaha. Sinclair tries to keep them supplied with food and tea, most of which Jasper and Murphy devour. And Bellamy watches and tries to keep his hopes low. Tries not to think about Octavia.

When Clarke Griffin abruptly shows up during an evening session, the buzz of work comes to a screeching halt. Miller just glares tiredly. Raven looks intrigued. Jasper and Monty vanish into the rows of plants, wary of typical human prejudice. Murphy is the only one that moves, immediately shifting into a mirror image of Clarke. As her mouth forms a startled ‘O’, Murphy copies her, tilting his head to match her confusion.

“You must be the shapeshifter,” she finally says, shaking her head slightly.

He ripples back into his normal form, grinning. “Hey, and you didn’t even scream. That’s a plus.”

She crosses her arms and leans back on her heels, lips pursed. Studying him. “You forgot the mole,” she finally says pointing out the single blemish near her lips.

Bellamy tenses, but Murphy’s smile only grows. “Oh, I like this one!” He steps forward and plants a dramatic kiss on Clarke’s forehead, smacking his lips loudly. “Good pick, Blake!”

Raven steps forward, rolling her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s an idiot. I’m Raven Reyes. Resident enchanter.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, right. I guess Miller counts too,” she winks.

Suddenly everyone is at ease, Murphy’s unaccountable taste and Raven’s easy demeanor diffusing the tension. Jasper and Monty even step into the office for introductions and Clarke is fascinated by them, asking questions about their respective cultures at a mile a minute.

Practicing for the night comes to an end and Sinclair ends up bringing dinner for everyone. Clarke laughs and chats with the others, even drawing some stories out of Miller, but a pit of unease grows in Bellamy’s stomach. As the night grows later, he offers Clarke his arm to escort her back out of the now quiet Academy.

“So…”

“So,” she echoes. Her hand rests softly along his forearm, just enough pressure to remind him that he’s leading the way, but not so much that she’s really leaning on him.

“I don’t usually have clients show up for the prep work.”

“You’ve never had me for a client.” She smiles cheekily and he can’t help but smile back.

“That is true.”

“You’re suspicious of me.”

He pauses. “I’m cautious. I have to be.”

“What happened to you, Bellamy?”

Their eyes meet and he looks away too quickly.

“That bad, huh?”

“Lady Griffin…”

“It’s just Clarke.”

“Clarke, then.” He steadies himself. “You don’t get into my line of work without making a few enemies.”

“A few makes sense.” She tips her head in the way she does when she’s sure of herself. “The entire Imperium is more than a few.”

They walk in quiet for a few moments, along the streets leading from the Academy towards the upper class boarding houses. It occurs to him that once again, he’s seeing her only under the faint light of the stars and he wonders what her golden hair and white skin look like under the blazing sunlight.

“I got someone killed,” he says finally. “And a lot of people thought it was intentional.” He turns to meet her soft gaze again. “I would be safe on the Homeworld, but… well…”

“The Imperium controls the Gateway,” she finishes. Her hand tightens slightly, just enough to translate her understanding and he decides that against all good sense, he actually likes this girl.

“You know, you don’t  _ look _ like an elf,” she laughs lightly.

Usually, the mention of his heritage would have sent Bellamy into defensive mode, but her tone makes him laugh too.

“Half-elf. My sister is full-blood,” he says. “I’m sure they’d welcome me home if I could… get there.”

The words feel like an invitation for pity, but Clarke only nods.

“I know you’re skeptical of me,” she continues, “but I want you to understand that I will keep my promise to you. The truth matters to me. Not just a truth, but  _ the _ truth.”

Bellamy turns the phrase over in his head. “Hence, your search for information?”

She squeezes again, but it feels like a warning this time. “Something like that.”

They walk in silence the rest of the way to her lodge.

“Good night, Lady Griffin.”

Her smile returns. “Good night, Sir Blake. I look forward to more days like today.”

“Is that wise?”

“Hmm?”

He nibbles at his lip. “Acting like… friends… with your employees?”

She tilts her head again, chin firmed and proud, the face of a noblewoman used to getting her way. “You’re trying to tell me we’re not friends?”

He hesitates and she leaves him with a smile and a nod.

Interesting, indeed.

Clarke blends with the team so seamlessly that it pricks at Bellamy’s spine sometimes. She helps Sinclair with organizing his library, much to the dwarf scholar’s delight. She absorbs Monty’s gardening talk for hours on end without complaint. She sits in on Raven and Miller’s Shaping sessions and eventually starts chiming in with suggestions that are actually helpful enough for them to incorporate. She teaches Murphy how to play some sort of complicated card game that Bellamy hasn’t seen in any tavern before and soon Murphy is beating her much to both of their amusements.

All in all, she’s comfortable to be around and yet as they get closer and closer to the big date, Bellamy feels less and less at ease. He still doesn’t know what she’s looking for, what her relationship with her mother is like, where the rest of her family is. And she never shows so much as a flicker of magic around the rest of the team.

Still, everyone else finds her more than trustworthy and Bellamy isn’t about to sow any more dissent in the ranks. Not when he has so much riding on this job. Not when they’re close enough he can practically feel Octavia’s arms wrapping around him again. Her laugh fills his dreams like a siren’s song.

Clarke arranges to meet her mother in an isolated village a few days inland from the Citadel. The Griffins own a swathe of land just outside the village and use it to stay at when they conduct business on the west side of the continent.

The day they leave the Academy, Sinclair cheering them off despite his grouchy warnings, Bellamy’s heart beats so fast and so hard that he feels like his hands will burst into flames at a second’s notice. Clarke touches his arm softly and her smile is reassuring. This will work. This has to work.

The rain is pouring down in sheets when they enter the village, meaning the cobblestone streets are almost completely empty. With hoods drawn tight, the little group heads into the walled compound with no prying eyes to watch.

Clarke nods towards a large roofed carriage near the stables. “She’s here. That’s her luggage carriage,” she yells over the rain.

“Must be a nice perk,” Murphy deadpans, hoisting his pack meaningfully.

They head into the dark mansion at the center of the compound, still meeting no one else. The rain drums eerily on the slate roof overhead as they catch their breath and remove their sopping wet cloaks.

“Does your mother usually travel with so few attendants?” Raven asks, her voice echoing too loudly in the empty entry hall.

Clarke drops her cloak on the floor, forming an instant puddle on the slick tile. “No…” She looks to Bellamy and something in their exchanged glances sets his hair on end.

“Weapons hot,” he snaps and the team jumps to attention; Jasper, Miller, and Murphy with long daggers, Monty with his short mace, and Raven with a bolt loaded in her crossbow. Bellamy summons his fire magic to dance just on the surface of his fingertips. He feels a surge of familiar power and turns to see Clarke with her own haze of magical energy gathered around her. She meets his eyes again.

“Ready?”

He gestures forward into the dark hall. “Ladies first.”

She smirks and leads the way, summoning a soft glow to light their way forward.

The mansion is vast, but Clarke obviously has an idea of where to find her mother. She leads them through two empty dining rooms and a kitchen before turning up a broad staircase that opens into a hallway lined with doors.

A prime place for an ambush.

No sooner has the thought crossed Bellamy’s mind then three of the doors fly open and suddenly they’re surrounded. Bellamy’s conscious mind counts ten guards, all bearing the Griffin noble crest across their plate armor. His unconscious mind is too busy lifting his hands wreathed in flame and throwing fire into the face of the nearest guard.

The man staggers back with a scream as the flames engulf him before he even has a chance to swing his sword. Bellamy follows up with another smaller flame, targeted for the man’s exposed sword hand. The sword drops to the floor with a clatter and the man falls prone, beating at his burning hair.

In the few seconds it took Bellamy to dispatch the guard, his team has done fairly well taking care of the rest. Jasper’s dagger is dripping with his own blood, reptilian eyes glowing with an unholy light under the high of his blood magic. Two guards are curled almost peacefully on the ground in front of him, but Bellamy knows better than to think they’re sleeping. Miller’s knife is buried in the throat of another guard, although the way he brushes at his shoulder in annoyance makes Bellamy think the guard probably managed to catch him with his blade. Murphy is ducking and weaving in a tight duel, the deadly grin on his face meaning he’s definitely drawing the kill out on purpose. Two crossbow bolts stick out from the chest of a very still guard and as Bellamy watches, another one whistles past and hits a second guard in the shoulder, making him cry out in surprise. But he still staggers forward and the last three guards are closing in as well, forcing Bellamy to dodge a step back.

Suddenly, every guard goes stiff, backs arched, toes barely touching the floor. Even the guard fighting Murphy is yanked into the unnatural position, giving Murphy space to slash his throat. As the blood drains from the man, a dark coil of energy drains along with it. The other four begin to gasp like beached fish as identical coils of magic seem to pour directly from their skin. The magic increases, flooding out of them as they start to shake with the force of the draining. 

The surge of energy at Bellamy’s side, something he’s been conscious of since they entered the house, suddenly pushes  _ hard  _ against him like a physical wall. Clarke’s head is thrown back, eyes glowing white hot, mouth open as she mutters incantations. The black energy seeps into her outstretched hands, draining the life directly from the men. Bellamy blinks and the men slump to the floor, pale and lifeless. The darkness disappears as Clarke soaks it in entirely and as she lowers her hands, her eyes fade back to their usual lively green.

The whole thing takes less than ten seconds.

Bellamy watches as Clarke heaves a deep breath. “Okay, then. She figured out we were coming.”

“Wait, what the hell?” Murphy sheathes his knife with an angry jerk. “What was that?”

“You’re a… what are you?” Raven stares at Clarke.

“A blood mage,” Bellamy says. Clarke gives him an inscrutable look and then turns away.

“So?”

“So… you never thought to share with the group?”

“Jasper’s a blood mage,” she points out.

“Yeah, but we all  _ knew _ that,” Monty says, examining Miller’s shoulder.

“And I didn’t exactly do... that,” Jasper chimes in, waving his still bleeding hand at the crumpled bodies.

Clarke screws up her nose. “Well… I’m a blood mage. And it’s more efficient to use enemy blood than my own. There. Now you all know.”

There’s several exchanged glances and Clarke huffs, face growing stormy. “And now you see why I don’t go around telling people.”

Bellamy reaches for her arm, but at the touch of his fingers she goes rigid and he pulls back faster than lightning. “Look, Clarke. We’re just saying that in an operation like this, you should have shared that information with us. For the good of the group.”

“Right, the group.” She looks over her shoulder and gives him a sour smile that makes chills crawl up his spine. “My group of employees, right? I’m paying you. I think that means I can do whatever I like, Sir Blake.”

She marches over the bodies and the rest of the group slowly follows. Bellamy’s mind is racing, but they’re so close. So close. Octavia is waiting. Whatever Clarke’s damage is, she can figure it out alone if that’s what she’s so hellbent on.

The original plan called for a soft approach, with Clarke and a shapeshifted Murphy lulling Abby into a sense of security while they slipped Monty’s potions into the tea. Only then would they peacefully perform the ritual over a sleeping Abby and enter the Fade to search her dreamscape.

Clearly, the gentle approach is out.

So when Clarke uses a bolt of pure energy to blast her mother’s bedroom door into smoking splinters, no one complains. Three more guards and the robed figure of Abigail Griffin herself stand at the ready inside the bedroom, illuminated only by the dying embers of the fire behind them.

“Lovely to see you again, sweetie,” Abby calls out, sickly sweet, and Bellamy immediately hates her with every fiber of his being.

Apparently, her voice has a similar impact on the others, because they take care of the guards even faster than the first group. Clarke is entirely concentrated on her mother, sending a hundred invisible slicing bolts towards her mother. Bellamy watches in a sort of shocked awe as whatever magic Abby has surrounding herself deflects the spells in miniature fireworks. He sends a blast of concentrated fire directly towards her and it splashes up in an arc around her, following the outline of her invisible shield.

“Monty!” he yells.

The gnoll doesn’t need any other prompting. He draws out a handful of leaves from the pouch at his side and crushes them in his fist. With a whispered incantation, he opens his palm and blows harshly at the bright green smoke hovering over his hand. The smoke snakes out and twists its way into Bellamy’s stream of fire as Bellamy pushes harder. He watches as the spiral of flame and smoke inches closer to Abby’s face, her shield slowly wearing down.

“Clarke! Help!”

He feels Clarke’s vast anger concentrate as she finally takes notice of what they’re doing. The tiny cuts coming at Abby from all sides suddenly vanish and instead Clarke uses one to slice her own arm. Blood immediately pours out and transforms into dark energy that Clarke blasts directly into Bellamy and Monty’s frontal assault. 

The force of the three intertwined magics bend the shield to its thinnest point and Bellamy sees fear flash through Abby’s eyes for a split second.

The shield shatters with an audible sound of energy exploding. Bellamy pulls his spell back instinctively, but Clarke’s magic hits her mom full blast, knocking her back against the wall as Monty’s sleeping spell wraps around her face. Abby’s eyes roll back and she goes limp, held up only by the force of Clarke’s dark energy splashing her body against the rough stones of the wall.

“Clarke!”

He grabs her wrist and yanks it sideways. Her ray of darkness burns a jagged hole through the curtained bed before she reels herself in, cutting off the spell.

“Let go of me.”

She doesn’t pull out of his grasp, but the ice in her voice is enough to make him let go.

She stalks to the other side of the room, not meeting his eyes.

Bellamy tries to ignore the fear that is swiftly growing into a ragged mass in his chest.

“Well…” Murphy yanks his knife from a guard’s throat. “This was bloodier than I’d imagined.”

“We should be able to initiate the ritual now,” Monty says, kneeling near Abby’s prone body and pulling vials from his pouch. “Jasper?”

The two Gardeners arrange Abby on the half melted bed, Monty dribbling some potion down her throat while Jasper slices her palm and draws out some blood.

Raven hesitantly approaches Clarke, hand extended in peace. “Hey. You okay?”

“Fine,” Clarke snaps.

“Calm down,” Bellamy snaps back. Everyone stares at him and he takes a deep breath. “Please, Clarke. We’re almost there.”

She glares at him, but doesn’t contradict him and he thanks the gods for little miracles.

Monty passes around the vial of potion. “Okay, two swallows each. Remember, this is a stronger variant on my usual stuff, so there will be side effects in the Fade. Your thoughts will be sharper, almost painfully so. And some of your inhibitions will be lowered, so just resist the urge to make out with each other and you should be fine.”

Murphy raises the vial towards Raven. “You’re first on my list, Reyes.”

He takes two huge swallows as she rolls her eyes. “Go fuck yourself, Murphy.” She takes her own drink and passes it to Bellamy.

The potion tingles a little in his throat as it goes down, a mixture of minty tang and the burn of magic. Immediately, he feels his eyelids grow heavy.

“Hold out your hand,” Jasper says, aura of gold light growing stronger around him. Bellamy lets Jasper make a shallow cut across his palm and watches interestedly as the blood wells up from the wound and transforms into shimmering gold light around Jasper.

Bellamy holds out the vial to Clarke for the last two swallows. Their fingers touch and he feels the intensity of her magic, her anger, and surprisingly her fear run through him.

“Hey.” She meets his gaze reluctantly. “Together?”

She blinks and the harsh light in her eyes softens briefly as she accepts the vial. “Together,” she whispers then downs the rest of the vial. Bellamy is only half aware as Jasper collects Clarke’s blood as well and then some of his own to boost the spell the rest of the way. Through Jasper’s blood magic and Monty’s special potion, they wouldn’t enter the Fade as mere dreamers. They would walk through their connected dreams with the power to Shape them. And to find Clarke’s missing information.

Bellamy watches as Clarke lays down on the floor next to him, watches her slowly relax, watches her until the potion takes over and the Fade claims him entirely.

It’s snowing in Abby’s dream.

Bellamy holds out his hand and gathers a handful of wet white snow. Knowing it’s a dream keeps him from being cold, but the texture of the snow itself is so real, down to the tiniest grains.

Dreams bleed into reality. Reality fades into dreams.

After hundreds of trips into the Fade, sometimes he doesn’t know which is the truth anymore.

Octavia’s tantalizing laugh echoes between the evergreen trees, muffled by the falling snow.

Not imagined this time. Real. Here in the Fade, the dreams come to life.

He forces himself to focus. Abby. Clarke. The mission.

_ Then _ Octavia, in the waking world.

Her laugh grows distant behind him as he trudges through knee deep snow to find his team.

They slowly gather in a cluster at the edge of the woods. Raven looks more than a little angry as the snow comes up to her waist.

“I could carry you,” Murphy smirks. She flips him off and he laughs.

Clarke is the last to join them, looking smaller than in real life, shoulders hunched in on herself.

Bellamy wonders if this is her perception of herself coming to life in the Fade.

“Okay, we’re all here. Not exactly what we planned, but we made it.”

He looks out over the desolate landscape. “Raven, Miller, talk us through it.”   
Raven nods firmly. “Down the slope, there’s a projection of Alpha Keep. The layout shifts so the hallways will keep Abby busy, but it’s an illusion.” She splays her fingers wide. “Inside is really just one giant room, so when we get in, keep that in mind. As long as  _ we _ know the truth, we’ll see through the illusion.”

“Good.” Bellamy’s heart is pounding and he’s not sure why. Those side effects Monty mentioned? “What then?”

Miller steps forward. “Since Abby will imprint her own surroundings, Murphy should be able to approach her as Jaha and direct her mind towards the proper information.”

“Perfect.” Murphy blinks then frowns. “Hold on.” He blinks again.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“I can’t shift.” His eyes widen with fear. “I can’t shift.”

Bellamy steps forward, heart thumping faster. “At all?”

“No! I’m trying right now.”

“Bullshit,” Raven snaps at him.

“It’s not!” Murphy says. There’s an edge of desperation to his voice. “I… something is wrong. Something is wrong. It’s not a lie.”

“Huh?” Raven stares at him for a moment. “It’s not a lie,” she murmurs. Then, “Murphy you’re actually very attractive even without shifting.”

She slaps her hand over her mouth as everyone else gapes.

Murphy blushes, something Bellamy doesn’t remember ever seeing before. “Thank you, I’m genuinely flattered and  _ what the hell is going on! _ ?”

“Monty’s potion has side effects,” Raven stammers from behind her fingers. “Lowered inhibitions. We have to tell the truth.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Clarke spreads her arms wide. “Enough! Who cares? We just need to get down there and get my information, now!”

As the others glare at her, she pushes past them uncaring. “Hey, you know it’s the truth. Potion approved.”

Bellamy jogs to catch up with her. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“I have a plan,” she bites. “I go in, force the information out of her and then we get out. She took the potion so she’ll have to tell the truth too.”

“That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard,” Bellamy says, the words spilling out without his permission. “It doesn’t matter if she tells the truth. If she gets suspicious she’ll take control of her dreamscape. Plus, it’s a huge waste of the team and of all the prep we put in.”

Clarke whirls on him, eyes alight with rage. “All of it was a huge waste! The fact that my mother was ready for us already confirmed my suspicions. Her and Jaha killed my best friend, Wells. Now I just need proof!”

Bellamy falls into a stunned silence.

Raven stutters. “Wells, as in… Prince Wells?”

“Yes.” Clarke shrinks a little back in on herself.

“As in, Emperor Jaha’s son?”

“Yes! What are you? Stupid?”

“That’s enough,” Miller yells, voice cracking through his normal stoicism. “We’re just caught off guard,  _ again _ , because you withheld information from us,  _ again _ !”

“I shouldn’t have to share every part of my sob story with the whole world!” Clarke’s voice rises steadily, sawing at Bellamy’s nerves like discordant violin strings. “The truth should matter no matter who was killed, a peasant child or the son of the Emperor!”

“Clarke, stop,” Bellamy pleads. “We’re here to help.”

She takes a deep breath and then turns to keep marching down the hill. “Then come on.”

The Fade moves around them quickly, so that the Keep draws near faster than physically possible. They follow Clarke through the front door, tension still at a boiling point.

Abby is sitting in a drawing room scene, surrounded by crisp white envelopes and carefully inked letters. An open fire burns too close to her feet, but Abby doesn’t seem to notice, lost in the dream world.

Clarke hesitates, her anger simmering into a single condensed point and Bellamy tries to breathe through his panic.

“Let me,” he says quickly. Then before Clarke can respond, he steps forward.

Trusting the dream. Trusting the Fade.

Abby turns her head curiously when Bellamy approaches and he’s struck by the resemblance to Clarke’s patented head tilt.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she says softly.

He bows, aware of his team’s watchful gaze. “Bellamy. We met before. At your travel home.”

Her brow wrinkles then the Fade fills in the gaps and she smiles sweetly. “Ah yes, Lord Bellamy. Please sit.”

The chair that appears beneath him is completely mismatched from the one that Abby is sitting on, but he doesn’t mention it, keeping her focus on the dreamscape she’s unconsciously constructing.

“I’m here on behalf of… a mutual friend. They want you to know that...”

Bellamy doesn’t have to look up to know that Clarke is watching, craning to listen. He can feel her heightened tension, ready to explode.

“They wanted you to know that it’s done.” The truth component of the potion lets the vague statement slip out and he relaxes slightly.

Abby sighs and drops her hands into her lap. The letters flutter around her like agitated moths, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I… I don’t know what I’m going to tell Clarke. She’s… they’re so close.”

Bellamy feels a lump growing in his throat and he wonders if it’s his own heightened emotion or Clarke’s feeding into him. He forces his panic down, wary of the way his mind is trying to run away from him. “You don’t think she’ll understand the truth?”

Abby laughs bitterly. “The truth? Jaha killed him and I helped cover it up. How will Clarke understand that?”

The dreamscape seems to teeter on the edge of a knife, so still Bellamy can hear his heart thump, the beat growing increasingly wild. Something familiar is trying to pry into his head, but he pushes it away.

Focus. For Clarke.

“She believes in the truth. She wants the truth. That should be enough.”

“I… I can’t tell her,” Abby cries. The letters start to fly around her in a whirlwind. “He was a threat to Jaha’s plans, to my plans. Meddling in everything, never content to keep his nose out of our treaties. Too moral for his own good. My darling Jake.” She bursts into tears as Bellamy stares at her in confusion, his thoughts scattering.

“Jake?”

Abby looks up and shrieks. “Clarke!”

Bellamy spins, expecting to find a vengeful Clarke bearing down on them, but instead a figment of Abby’s dream steps forward. A child Clarke, gold curls cascading down to her lower back, cheeks rosy with sleep.

“Mama?” Young Clarke balls her hands into fists and trembles. “You killed Daddy?”

Bellamy feels the real Clarke now, her anger boiling up out of her as she gathers her senses. Not the truth she was looking for, but the truth nonetheless.

And he’s afraid, he’s afraid, he’s so afraid...

A familiar laugh rings through the Keep.

Young Clarke vanishes and Abby shoots up to her feet. “Who is that?”

“Bell-a-my,” Octavia’s singsong voice calls out. “Come play with me! Come play with me, big brother.”

Abby turns to Bellamy, suspicion starting to cut through the dream. He holds up his hands placatingly as she demands again, “Who is that?”

He opens his mouth and can’t stop the truth from spilling out. “My sister. Octavia.”

“What is she doing here?”

“I…” he struggles against the words. “I brought her here.”

Abby’s gaze darts back and forth frantically. “Where is here?” The dreamscape starts to shift and slide around him.

He hates himself. Hates the way he’s too tired to fight the words as they slip from his mouth.

“We’re in the Fade.”   
Abby turns and runs. Her projections vanish and she flees before he can even try to stop her, darting through the back door.

“You idiot!” Raven is livid.

Bellamy cowers as his team draws close, varying degrees of frustration written across their faces.

“You fucking idiot,” Murphy agrees. “You can’t focus for two seconds?”

“I… no I couldn’t do it. I couldn't’ do it!” Bellamy drops his head into his hands, rocking back and forth as the full impact of his mistake hits him. Octavia’s laughter fades away as he realizes the real Octavia is slipping through his fingers the farther away Abby runs.

“I tried. I couldn’t… lie.”

“Fucking potion,” Raven growls.

Miller kneels next to Bellamy and nudges his shoulder. “Hey, we’re here for you. We’re not going anywhere.”

Bellamy swipes roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand and glances up at his friends. “I know.” Even Murphy is reluctantly nodding in support. “I know you guys are.”   
The dreamscape shifts around him again, like the world being thrown off its axis and Bellamy frowns. “Where’s Clarke?”

A beat.

The dreamscape quakes again.

“Shit.”

They catch up to Clarke and Abby only after the dreamscape shakes them to the ground three more times. Each time their anger boils to the surface and they take a round of verbal beatings from each other before calming down and issuing a round of apologies.

“I’m going to make Monty and Jasper drink this fucking truth potion when we get back and see how they like it,” Murphy grumbles.

“The fact that you’re undoubtedly telling the truth actually makes that hilarious,” Miller says with an uncharacteristic giggle.

“Hey, hey, we can’t start laughing hysterically because in this state it will never stop,” Bellamy warns. They struggle up another small rise and he pauses to catch his breath. “But yes that was hilarious.”

“I’ll help,” Raven volunteers.

“There!” Miller shouts, pointing out the dark figures on the horizon. They run as another shift nearly throws them off their balance.

Clarke and her mother are grappling, neither one able to control their magic in the unreliable Fade. Clarke throws her mother to the ground, bashing her head roughly into snow.

“You murderer! You fucking murderer!” she screams.

“Clarke, I had to do it!” Abby yells frantically. Her arms flail, fingers clawing for nonexistent help.

“I had to kill your father.”

“You have to be lying,” Clarke screams, tears streaming down her face. But Abby must believe her words are true, which is maybe the worst truth of all.

“Clarke, stop!” Bellamy yells.

Clarke doesn’t stop. She wraps her fingers around her mother’s throat and squeezes, her thumbs digging into Abby’s windpipe. The Fade warps again, the ground rippling like an ocean under their feet and throwing them to the ground again.

Bellamy spits out snow and rolls over.

“Clarke, if you kill her, we all die with her! We’re in  _ her _ dream!”

“I don’t care,” Clarke grits. Abby’s eyes roll back in her head. “There’s nothing left. They killed my best friend. They killed my  _ father _ !”

“We’ve killed people too,” Bellamy says. “Does that mean we should all die?”

Clarke’s burning stare hits him. “You killed innocent people! That’s why you can’t use the Gateway. That’s why the Imperium wants you dead!”

Bellamy flounders.

“Tell them,” Clarke snaps. She squeezes harder. “Tell everyone the truth.”

Bellamy licks his lips. Glances at his team. His friends.

“I got someone killed because I was careless,” he says. His stomach churns, but he forces himself onward. “I took Gina, just a student, into danger because I thought we were invincible. I thought we could do anything together. I put her life in danger and she died because of me.”

He takes a breath.

“But that’s why I won’t let any other senseless deaths happen on my watch. The Imperium thinks I murdered an innocent girl. I know the truth. I know what it’s like to suffer without justice.”

“This _ is _ justice!”

“This is  _ vengeance _ !” He staggers to his feet and stumbles closer to the two. “This won’t give you Wells back. This won’t bring your father back.” Then softer, “It’s never brought Gina back.”

Clarke stills, but doesn’t move her hands. “She deserves to die.”

“She does,” Bellamy says firmly. “But do you want to kill all of us too? Is this how you want to die?”

She doesn’t answer and he takes another step. “We’ve all done bad things. Terrible things. But that doesn’t make us who we are.”

Another step.

“Who we are and we need to be to survive are very different things.”

Clarke looks up at him. “You must really believe that, to be able to say it here. Now.”

“I do.” He holds out his hand. “Come back with us. Survive with us. Together? Remember?”

She stares at him, her hands resting limply on Abby’s throat. The world holds still.

“Together?” Clarke’s voice is bitter. “The only friend I ever had was Wells. I had to buy the rest of you. What kind of together is that?”

Bellamy’s voice sticks in his throat. Emotions bleed off of Clarke, a swirl of sadness, loneliness, despair, darkness, going deeper and deeper…

Raven suddenly steps up beside him. “I’m not here because I’m being paid. Not anymore. I’m here because you’re my friend.”

Miller steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Bellamy. “I’m here because you’re my friend, Clarke.”

Murphy is blushing again and swears something under his breath about “this fucking potion”, but he steps forward too. “I’m here because you’re my friend, princess. And a fucking good one at that.”

Clarke’s tears fall faster and Bellamy feels his own start to fall.

“What about your sister?” she chokes. “The Gateway… after this I’ll never be able to…”

She breaks off with a sob and he understands the weight and the despair and the fear shaking through her with the force of an earthquake, but he firms his jaw and looks at Clarke Griffin and he knows the truth.

“You’re my family too,” he says. Easily. Simply. Like he’s known it all along.

She grabs his hand and he lifts her off of Abby as the world starts to go dark around them.

“What’s happening?” Clarke gasps through her tears. “Is she dead?”

“No, she’s breathing,” Miller kneels over Abby’s body. “She must be waking up.”

Bellamy holds Clarke’s hand tightly and reaches out to grab Miller’s hand. Clarke reaches for Raven and Raven reaches for Murphy and they pull tightly together in a huddle as the Fade begins to dissolve around them.

A family, Bellamy thinks. A family that sticks together, even when the world is pulled out from under them. And as he blinks awake in the dim bedroom in the Griffin mansion, he meets Clarke’s sleepy gaze and he feels the rest of his friends stirring awake around them and he realizes that they’ll be okay. As long as they stick together, they’ll be okay.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my contribution to Round 3 of Chopped 3.0!
> 
> Tropes used:  
> 1\. Heist AU  
> 2\. Truth Potion  
> 3\. Gardener AU  
> 4\. Forehead kiss
> 
> Biggest inspirations for the plot and setting were Inception, the Dragon Age series, and Heroes of Might and Magic III. If you liked this fic, please consider voting for it in this round of Chopped! Thank you for reading!


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